


Silver

by raynewton



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 14:44:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raynewton/pseuds/raynewton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk is declared dead, Spock searches</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver

Silver

by Ray Newton

"...regret that Captain James Kirk must be listed as missing, presumed dead. The Enterprise is, therefore, ordered to proceed immediately to Starbase Eight where Captain Richard Durrell will assume command for the remainder of the present mission. On completion, the Enterprise will then return to Earth for extended leave and refit, while the permanent captaincy is decided. Komack, Admiral Starfleet, out."

McCoy switched off the intercom channel to the bridge and slammed his hand on the desk in a gesture of impotent fury and grief.

He had been expecting it, he realised wearily; it was - what? - eighteen days now? - and still no trace of Jim. He would never forget the sick horror he had felt when the search had brought to light a pair of sandals and a folded towel on the beach, a line of footprints that led into the water... and did not return. Sensor scans remained blank. No Human life-form readings, not even the trace of a dead body, nothing. Spock had tried, repeating the search pattern with grim determination, then dismantling and checking the scanners before running the whole search again. He had widened the scan area impossibly far - McCoy was certain the entire planet had been covered - and only when the Science Department had covered all possibilities, had the expressionless Vulcan contacted Starfleet. Komack's message had conveyed only the expected decision.

So, Jim was dead. Lost, not in some grand, extravagant gesture that would have fitted the image of a Starship captain, but quietly... and so damned uselessly! Spock, of course, would obey the order, but what - if anything - did he feel? McCoy wondered. He must know that he would almost certainly be offered the captaincy, but would he accept? He had turned down command before...

And he, Leonard McCoy - what would he do now? He felt suddenly old and tired... it was all wrong that Jim, whose life still held so much promise, should be the one...

His office door slid open and he looked up wearily; Spock stood there, aloof, controlled... No. /Seeing what you expect to see, McCoy./ The Vulcan looked ill, tired, his eyes shadowed... his hands even trembled slightly.

"Come in, Spock - sit down." Spock hesitated, wary of the gruff kindliness in the doctor's tone. "Let's forget the pretence for once - I'm not up to it right now. Jim's death..."

"I do not believe that Jim is dead," Spock interrupted, as he sat down across the desk, hands clasped before him.

"Not dead? Then why did you let them recall the Enterprise? We've got to call them back, tell them..."

"I have nothing to tell them, Doctor; merely an impression...a belief, if you will. I had always thought to feel him die... but I have no proof, only..."

"Only a feeling, huh, Spock?" McCoy swallowed his own disappointment in the need to comfort Spock. "Believe me, I understand," he continued gently, "It's a... Human characteristic, to deny something we don't want to believe. You want Jim to be alive, so you're looking for the smallest excuse to deny his death."

"I fear you are correct-my judgement is somewhat impaired at this time. McCoy, I...need your help."

"What can I do?"

Spock's hands tightened until the knuckles showed white, and his gaze dropped. He struggled to speak, and McCoy waited.

"I will soon... be in...pon farr."

/God, not that! Anything but that! "You're sure? Of course you are! Turn command over to Scotty - divert to Vulcan on my authority as medical officer..."

"Useless, Doctor."

"Why useless? Your parents... they'll arrange something..."

"They cannot. If I were free, it would be possible, but a... partial bond has been formed, and no other will suffice. My... my bondmate is not on Vulcan."

"Then where?" As Spock remained obstinately silent, McCoy rounded the desk. "Tell me, Spock - I want to help."

"I know," Still the Vulcan would not meet his eyes. "All you can do is to... confine me, sedate me... The Vulcan doctors believe that, because I am half Human, I can possibly survive pon farr unmated, but it will be... difficult."

"Spock, I don't understand you!" McCoy was exasperated. "You have a bondmate but you won't..." He broke off, horrified, as Spock covered his face with shaking hands. "You won't go to your bondmate... because you can't. Spock, for God's sake, tell me that what I'm thinking is wrong!"

The Vulcan sighed, and dropped his hands; pain-filled eyes lifted fleetingly to McCoy's.

"Jim - was to bond with me when we returned to Vulcan," Spock said tonelessly. "He understood... he chose freely... We knew that I was close to pon farr, but there would have been time enough... his presence kept the fever in check. Now that he is gone, I am... I burn..."

"But..." McCoy hesitated, then continued brutally, "now that he's dead, can't you find another mate? It's your life, Spock - I don't want to lose you both."

"Thank you." Spock shook his head. "Your suggestion is impossible. The bond is incomplete, and so I live... but it is too strong to allow me to take another in his place. I belong only to him... I would destroy anyone who... who tried to help me by substituting for him. I must... endure what comes... I may die... I pray that I do..."

There was nothing McCoy could find to say. He hesitated, longing to offer the overwrought Vulcan some comfort, knowing that it would be useless. Instead, he sought release in action, urging the unresisting Spock into the isolation ward, obtaining his permission to consult M'Benga, notifying Scotty that he was now in command. Then, with Spock resting in a deceptive calm, he returned to his office, tied in the link to the medical computer, and began to prepare himself to fight for the life of a man who had no reason to live.

***

Doctor McCoy hurried into the transporter room, noting with relief that he was in plenty of time - the honour guard stood relaxed, and Scotty was leaning over the console in conversation with Kyle.

"Leonard." Scotty nodded a greeting, and beckoned McCoy aside. "How's Mr. Spock?"

"Holding his own. M'Benga reckons that, if he can hold on for another 48 hours, he'll make it. Any word about Captain Durrell?"

"We should be getting word tae beam him up any minute. Leonard, Ah should've told ye before this, but Ah didna' get the chance... Ah'm no' happy at the thought o' yon man in command, especially as..."

"Mr. Scott, Captain Durrell is beaming up now," Kyle interrupted, and the two officers took their places as the honour guard stiffened to attention.

During the salute to the arriving Captain, McCoy studied the man keenly, finding himself unable to arrive at a clear impression. Durrell was older than Jim, with an air of resolute authority, but his eyes were cold as he returned the gaze of the reception party.

Scotty stepped forward. "Lieutenant-Commander Montgomery Scott, temporarily in command. Welcome aboard, Captain."

"Thank you, Mr. Scott."

"May I present our Chief Surgeon, Dr. Leonard McCoy."

"Welcome aboard, Captain."

"Thank you, Doctor. Mr. Scott, I understood that Commander Spock was in command of the Enterprise."

"He was, Sir." McCoy intercepted the question smoothly. "However, at the moment, Mr. Spock is confined to sickbay."

"Inconvenient. I will require a full report later. Mr. Scott, I must rely on you to conduct me over the ship."

"My pleasure, Sir." As he passed McCoy, Scotty lowered his voice and whispered urgently, "For God's sake, Leonard - keep that man away from Spock!"

***

Three hours later, McCoy emerged from the isolation ward and slumped wearily against the wall. He was unsure how much more of this he could take - seeing Spock, that proud, reserved man, so utterly vulnerable, threatened to overwhelm his medical detachment.

The Vulcan was in agony - had been for days - his body burning with fever, torn by agonies of cramp that no sedation seemed able to relieve. He had to be kept under constant heavy restraint - he had broken loose once already and had almost wrecked the isolation ward; but worse even than the outbursts of insane rage were the periods of despair when he writhed in torment, calling endlessly and brokenly for Kirk.

Abruptly, McCoy straightened, as the door opened and Durrell came in; he had changed out of his dress uniform and the Doctor knew an irrational surge of rage that this stranger had intruded in Kirk's quarters - then, with a sigh, he remembered that they were no longer Kirk's, that he himself had removed his belongings, feeling somehow that Spock would have wanted him to do it...

"Well, Doctor, how is your patient? May I see Commander Spock now?"

"That's... not possible, Sir." No-one must see Spock as he was now. "He's in total isolation, no visitors."

"What's wrong with him?"

"A... Vulcan condition, Sir."

"You are aware, Doctor, that I have the authority to see his medical file. Please produce it."

"You have the authority, Sir, but I beg you - don't insist. Mr. Spock is a Vulcan... the intrusion on his privacy..."

"I am waiting, Doctor." The implacable eyes showed no sign of softening. Reluctantly, McCoy slotted the tape into the viewer and stood back. /Hidebound, arrogant, unfeeling bastard!/ he thought. /There's no regulation to that effect, but he must know that Vulcans are customarily granted greater privacy out o6 respect for their traditions./

"This...pon farr." Durrell flicked a contemptuous finger at the screen. "That's the Vulcan mating drive?"

"Yes, Sir."

"So I've been landed with a First Officer who can't control his sexual urges! Comes of being a half-breed, I suppose - I've worked with other Vulcan officers, and none of them had this problem."

"Normally, arrangements are made," McCoy tried to explain, "but Spock is a special case. He...he lost his Bondmate very recently, and there hasn't been time..."

"Enough." Durrell rose. "I'm not interested in the Commander's sex life; just get him back on duty as quickly as possible."

"Yes, Captain." McCoy slumped into his chair as Durrell stalked out; this was going to be a problem - Spock, if he survived, would need peace and tranquillity to recover both from his grief and from the ravages of pon farr, and if Durrell chose to be difficult....

"Are ye busy, Leonard?"

"Huh? Oh, it's you, Scotty - come in."

"Whit's up, man? Ye look like death." Scotty sank into a chair and studied his friend with concern.

"Durrell. He came in here wanting to see Spock and when I refused, he demanded access to his medical file... He has the right, of course, but no compassionate man would have insisted - Jim wouldn't."

"He's no' Captain Kirk, that's for sure," Scotty said gloomily. "He's efficient, mind, from what I've heard, but I canna think of a more difficult person for Mr. Spock tae work wi'."

"He can't be anti-Vulcan! Starfleet would never allow..."

"That's no' the trouble - he gets on fine with aliens, even had an Andorian First Officer on his last command. The thing is - he belongs tae one o' thae obscure religious sects... disapproves o' mixed marriages, so wi' Mr. Spock being a half-breed... An' that's no' the worst." Scotty leaned forward and lowered his voice. "He holds verra strict and old-fashioned moral attitudes... if he finds out about Mr. Spock and Captain Kirk..."

"How do you know?" McCoy demanded in astonishment.

"Ah can see beyond my engines sometimes. It wisna' anything ye could put a finger on, jist the... awareness between them... However, that's no' our concern. Whit does matter is that if Durrell finds out he'll try and have Mr. Spock removed, and he won't care if he creates a scandal in the doing of it."

"Why should it matter to him?" McCoy asked, and Scotty grimaced.

"Because - can ye no' see, man? - wi' Mr. Spock out o' the way, Captain Durrell has a guid chance o' being confirmed in command."

"Well then, Scotty, you and I had better make damned sure that Durrell doesn't find out."

***

Five days later, McCoy reluctantly discharged Spock from sickbay and allowed him to return to duty - only half shifts at first. Durrell was displeased, but, in this case, was powerless to override the Doctor's authority.

He had made it very plain that McCoy was no longer welcome on the bridge, and the anxious Doctor was forced to rely on Scotty and Uhura for information, when he would have preferred to make his own observations.

At first, all seemed to go well. Spock performed his duties as efficiently as ever, and a stranger probably would have noticed nothing wrong, but Uhura reported that his control seemed forced - he was a fraction slower than normal in responding to orders, and his opinions were given a trifle more hesitantly than before. Durrell maintained an icy politeness towards his First Officer, never speaking to him outside the line of duty, but McCoy considered that no bad thing - the Vulcan was in no condition to cope with either interest or hostility.

For his own part, McCoy took over when Spock came off duty, bullying him affectionately into eating, getting some rest even if he couldn't sleep, and keeping an eagle eye on his mental and physical condition. It hurt to see the Vulcan obey so listlessly, but it served to help Spock maintain his facade of normality - at least, McCoy hoped - until this mission was over.

The explosion, when it came, was shocking and unexpected. Most of the bridge crew had gathered one evening in the rec room, and McCoy had persuaded Spock to join them for the first time since Kirk's death.

Uhura, primed by McCoy, was practising with the Vulcan harp Spock had lent her, and appealed for assistance; Spock, in demonstrating the correct technique, unconsciously found himself playing. As the music took form, Uhura, leaning over his shoulder to watch the fingering, began to sing an improvised accompaniment and the others fell silent, enjoying the blending of the music and her rich voice.

Spock seemed totally absorbed and McCoy was watching him so closely that, at first, he did not realise that Durrell had come in, but when he looked up and saw the man's face, he felt a sudden apprehension - the Captain's mouth was drawn into a thin line, anger and disgust glittered in his cold eyes.

When the music fell silent, the appreciative murmurs were interrupted. "Mr. Spock!"

"Sir?"

"Will you please explain to me the precise significance of the Vulcan term 'bonding'?"

"It is...a marriage... and yet more than a marriage, for my race is telepathic, ana a mental union is involved. It is - "

"So. I wished to be certain of my facts before I made any accusation. As part of my duties in assuming command of the Enterprise, I have been monitoring the communications records. I discovered a joint message from you and the late Captain Kirk to the Vulcan Council, stating that you proposed to become bonded, and another to Starfleet Command requesting recognition of this relationship. Do you deny it?"

"I do not, Sir." Spock rose to his feet, his face white. "This is an intolerable invasion of privacy... the interception of personal communications... I will not discuss -"

"But I will, Commander. A Captain has some rights as to the behaviour he demands from his crew, and I will not tolerate perversion on my ship. I assume your fellow officers were unaware of your disgusting behaviour? Such practices stink in the nostrils of all decent men and women - I cannot adequately express my contempt and disgust. I have notified Starfleet Command that I demand your removal from this ship when we reach Rigel - and that I intend to conduct an inquiry into the corruption you have no doubt spread among the junior officers..."

"Captain!" Uhura, a small bundle of quivering fury, stepped defensively in front of the ashen-faced Spock. "You have no right to say such things. Mr. Spock is a brilliant officer, admired and respected by all who have the good fortune to serve under him. His personal life is - "

"Miss Uhura, please." Spock touched the woman's shoulder briefly. "I am... honoured by your loyalty, but I cannot permit you... The Captain has his opinions...forgive me...I will leave."

"Yes, get out!" Durrell spat. "Unfortunately, I can't remove you from duty until we reach Rigel, but I don't want to see your face outside your quarters at any other time."

Spock drew himself stiffly erect and walked slowly from the room. McCoy, followed by Scotty, hurried after him, then changed his mind and headed for his office, where he snapped on the intercom.

"Spock? Answer me, or so help me, I'm coming in there!"

"Yes, Doctor?" Was that really Spock's voice, so tired, so... defeated?

"Are you... all right?"

A pause, then hesitantly, "I...I will be. Please, leave me alone."

"All right, Spock, try to get some sleep. And don't worry - Durrell doesn't speak for the crew."

The click of the intercom switch was his only response. McCoy sighed heavily, then looked up as Scotty placed a glass of brandy in front of him.

"That was all Spock needed," he exclaimed as he drained the glass. "Just when I thought he might... get over it, somehow..."

"Try no' tae worry," Scotty advised. "By the time Mr. Spock comes on duty tomorrow, we'll be in orbit o' Rigel. The Captain'll be expected tae pay a courtesy call on the President an' he'll be too busy tae trouble Mr. Spock. As for the inquiry - there's no' a man or woman on this ship who willna' testify gladly for Spock."

"I hope you're right. Thank God you'll be on the bridge - keep an eye on him, will you?"

"I will," the Engineer promised.

***

A minor emergency in sickbay delayed McCoy the following morning so that he had no opportunity to see Spock before he returned to duty. Deeply troubled, he retired to his office to catch up on his reports, but had barely begun when the emergency signal summoned him.

Two orderlies were transferring the unconscious body of Captain Durrell onto a bed; Uhura came in behind them and caught McCoy's sleeve.

"Mr. Scott says, keep him sedated," she whispered urgently.

Nodding, McCoy pressed a hypo to Durrell's shoulder, then leant over to examine his patient; he whistled, wonderingly, at the sight of the bruised, swollen throat. "Not serious," he announced. "Deal with this, Nurse Chapel. Uhura, come into my office."

The door safely closed, McCoy leaned against the desk. "What happened?"

"We'd just entered orbit around Rigel," the Communications Officer began slowly. "Captain Durrell said he was unfamiliar with Rigellian customs, and ordered me to play Captain Kirk's log entry for his last visit... he told me to put it on the main screen." Her voice faltered, her eyes filling with tears as she relived the memory. "Mr. Spock was just coming out of the turbolift... Doctor, if you'd seen him... for a moment, I'm sure he thought it really was the Captain, down there on Rigel... Then he realised... We all felt bad, seeing Captain Kirk like that...but Mr. Spock... I've never seen such grief..."

The tears fell then, and Uhura struggled for composure. McCoy gave her a moment, then prompted gently, "And?"

"Doctor, it was sheer cruelty!" Her head came up, anger blazing in the liquid eyes. "Captain Durrell swung round in his chair and stared at Spock... I could scarcely bear to look at him, he was so vulnerable... But Durrell...he said... 'If you can tear your attention away from your lover, Commander, perhaps you would take your post.' Mr. Spock didn't answer - he looked like he couldn't take his eyes off the screen. Then... it was horrible... Durrell laughed. 'Finding your bed cold these days, Commander? Never mind, I'm sure the brothels of Rigel will provide you with a substitute. That's where he belonged, not on a Starship - any man who could lust after an alien half-breed would feel perfectly at home in - '

" Mr. Spock screamed then, Doctor. He sprang at the Captain... I'm sure he was going to kill him... it took four men to pull him off. Mr. Scott ordered the Captair brought down here, and told me to explain."

"Where's Spock now?"

"I don't know - he ran from the bridge and I haven't seen him since. He's probably in his quarters."

"Right. You get back to duty and I'll have a word with Scotty. God, what a mess!"

***

When Captain Durrell regained consciousness and returned to duty, his air of outrage deceived no-one; all the senior officers were well aware that the man was quietly satisfied with the results of his provocation of Spock.

At a hastily-convened meeting in the briefing room, the Captain surveyed the circle of hostile faces and said:

"You've got that mutinous Vulcan in the brig, I suppose?" 

"No, Sir," the Security Chief replied stolidly.

"No? Why the hell not? If that damned pervert is skulking in sickbay again..."

"He isn't," McCoy flared, "but if he was..."

"Doctor, leave this to me." Scotty, spokesman of the group, faced the irate Captain calmly; his accent vanished completely as he reported with formality.

"In the confusion of getting you to sickbay, Mr. Spock left the bridge unnoticed As senior officer on duty I assumed command and had the ship searched. Mr. Spock was no longer on board - he had stunned the Transporter Chief and beamed down to Rigel. Before he left, he cleared the board so that we could not trace his coordinates. I alerted planetary security, but they have been unable to locate him." 

"On Rigel, I'm not surprised," the Captain said. "He's gone to ground somewhere on that hell-hole - I want him found! You - all of you," he glanced round the table, "you're covering for him. I'll make sure Starfleet are informed." 

"Starfleet already knows," Scotty said quietly. "An assault on a commanding officer is a serious offence - I forwarded a full report with copies of the log tapes and the testimonies of all witnesses."

"The facts are indisputable," the Captain answered. "That precious Vulcan of yours is guilty of mutiny and assault - he'll be courtmartialled for this. Get back on duty, all of you - and find him!"

***

In the corridor, Scotty grinned wryly at McCoy. "Ah'm thinking Ah'll be in the Captain's bad books now. Well, we'd best try and find Mr. Spock before he comes to any harm."

"What will they do to him, Scotty?"

"Hard to say. He did attack the Captain, but he was sorely provoked. Still, there's one thing."

"Oh?"

"Ah'd say this has put paid to Captain Durrell's hopes of commanding the Enterprise. Sulu told me the entire crew are so disgusted at the way he treated Mr. Spock, they'll request a transfer en masse if he's offered the captaincy."

"They're a loyal crew," McCoy said quietly.

***

Hours passed, and still planetary security reported no trace of the missing First Officer. It was well into the ship's night when McCoy was wakened by the buzzing of his intercom.

"Meet me in the transporter room, Leonard - we've found something."

Kyle set them down in the reception hall of one of Rigel's largest and most anonymous hotels; the Enterprise Security chief was waiting for them.

"I've managed to have the official report delayed," he told them. "One of the senior officers owes me a favour. I thought you gentlemen would like to have a look first."

Unlocking a door, he ushered them into a small bedroom. "We only found this by chance. There was something wrong with the heating, and the engineer sent to investigate reported to the manager. He informed Security."

On the bed lay a small pile of clothes, a neatly-folded blue shirt bearing the Enterprise Science insignia on top; the dressing table held the identification documents of Commander Spock - and, lying slightly apart, an IDIC gleamed softly. McCoy picked up the jewel and held it tightly. "He's gone, but where?"

"As to that, Doctor..." The Security Chief stepped forward. "I took the liberty of checking all ships leaving Rigel in the last fourteen hours. There were at least a dozen cruise liners, and several hundred privately-owned ships... but if you look at the bottom of the list, I think you'll recognise an old friend." McCoy looked down the list, Scotty peering over his shoulder.

"I don't... yes, look, Scotty:"

"Well, who'd've thought it!" the Engineer exclaimed; listed as leaving Rigel five hours ago was a small scoutship piloted by Cyrano Jones. "Dae ye think that's where he's gone, Leonard?"

"It's possible. Though if he has, he's more disturbed than I thought."

"You think Jones will turn him in?"

"Unlikely. In the first place, Cyrano won't have any dealings with Security if he can help it; in the second... he has a sneaking liking for our Mr. Spock. Chief..."

"Don't worry, Doctor. I'll make my report, of course, but I don't have to spell out this connection for the Captain. And to save you asking... I'll spread the word quietly, for any news of Cyrano Jones; if he turns up again, I'll get to hear of it and let you know - unofficially."

"Thanks, Chief. Scotty, we'd better get back to the ship and let Security make their report." He held up the IDIC. "I don't think it'll make any difference if I hold on to this - do you?"

"You keep it, Doctor. We'll need the clothes and documents for evidence, but a personal possession like that would only end up locked in a file somewhere." Scotty touched McCoy's arm. "Come on, Leonard - there's nothing we can do for Spock now."

***

Back on board the Enterprise, McCoy gazed at his friend tiredly. "Why didn't he contact us, Scotty? He must have known we'd help."

"And get ourselves into trouble in the doing of it," the Engineer countered. "He'd no' risk your career or mine. It's best if we know nothing...but I'd like fine tae ken he's safe."

"So would I, Scotty," sighed McCoy. "So would I."

Forty eight hours later, the Enterprise left Rigel heading for Earth. An official inquiry would be held by Starfleet Command, but the one indisputable fact remained - Commander Spock, First Officer of the Enterprise, was listed as a deserter.

***  
Huddled in the tiny cabin of the fleeing scoutship, reaction set in and Spock found himself trembling uncontrollably. For the first time since the emerald waves of fury had closed over his head on the bridge of the Enterprise, he was capable of conscious thought, but the memory was so painful that he pressed his hands against his eyes and whimpered in desolation. Insult directed at himself he could ignore, but Durrell had turned his vicious tongue against Kirk, insinuating that Jim was... was...

Since then he had moved automatically, scarcely aware of what he was doing; slowly, he reconstructed his course of action.

When Scotty had pulled him from Durrell's throat, he had gone directly to his quarters, packed a small case with civilian clothes, and had emptied his safe. Normally, he would have had very little money immediately to hand, but the thick wad of notes had been set aside to buy a gift for Jim, a token of their bonding... it would not be needed for that purpose now, but it was his means of escape from this home that had suddenly become hell.

He was not stopped on his way to the transporter room, but when he entered, Kyle was just turning from the intercom - the man must have been warned... The Transporter Chief made no attempt to reopen contact, nor did he offer the slight est resistance when Spock reached for his shoulder; the Vulcan set the controls and raced for the transporter pad - as he shimmered from sight, he was unaware that the groggy Kyle, who had heard the whole story from Chekov on the bridge, struggled to his knees and, without looking at the board, swept his hand across the panel, obliterating the settings.

Spock had set the controls unthinkingly, choosing the coordinates of a hotel Kirk had liked to use when he had leave on Rigel; stepping out of the arrival booth, merely another officer on leave, he booked a room and went directly to it.

He thought he was reasoning clearly, but his actions were still instinctive and automatic; he found himself changing into civilian clothes, folding the discarded uniform neatly, then he sat down to decide what he should do next.

The obvious, honourable course was to go back. He had assaulted his commanding officer, deserted his post... a court-martial was inescapable. At that, he shook his head in silent negation - he could bear uncomplainingly charges against himself, but Durrell would repeat his allegations against Jim... He could not bear the thought of Kirk's name being dragged through the mud, the sniggering speculation when it became known that he had chosen to bond with a Vulcan. No, he must not face trial.

Or he could die. He longed passionately for death, to be free of the sick, anguished emptiness that had been his existence since Kirk had vanished. There would still be a certain amount of scandal, but if he were not there to be punished, Starfleet would probably hush up the details.

Only one thing stopped him. If he could be certain that Jim was dead, he would have chosen to join him gladly, but the small doubt remained. He had not felt Kirk die - the Human might still be alive - and the abrupt severance of their incomplete bond could damage his mind. It was such a slight chance, but as long as the possibility remained that Kirk lived, he could not permit himself to die.

Surrender and death denied him, only flight remained. He would disappear, vanish so completely that neither Starfleet nor Vulcan could find him, merge with the anonymous,drifting crowds of Rigel until he could think of somewhere to go.

As he rose, the mirror reflected back the IDIC around his neck, his father's gift, and he paused to unfasten it and lay it down on the dressing table. Spock of Vulcan was dead - he would not bring further disgrace to his family by carrying any trace of his former life into exile. Slowly, the door whispered shut behind him.

***

The stout, jovial man edging his way through the crowded bar halted in astonishment as he recognised the man seated alone at the table. For a moment, his every instinct was to slip away before he was seen, then the incongruity of finding this man in such a setting, and the slumped, defeated posture made him pause and, despite himself, he moved forward.

"Mind if I join you?"

The man raised his head and a chill ran through him as he saw the dead, listless eyes.

"Cyrano Jones - this is most fortunate." The voice was as dead as the eyes.

"I require immediate transport from Rigel - secretly. I will pay whatever you ask."

"Why, Mr. Spock!" Cyrano chuckled. "I am honoured by your confidence." Behind the bland expression, his mind raced - he had heard of Kirk's death, of course, but why should the Vulcan be here, attempting to obtain secret passage from Rigel? "May I ask...?"

"You may not." Spock started to rise. "If you cannot help me..."

"I didn't say that." Jones pulled him back and came to a quick decision; he liked Spock and if the man was in some kind of trouble... "My ship can leave within the hour."

Warned by that frozen, desolate face, Jones asked no further questions. Having established that Spock had, for reasons he would not divulge, deserted his ship, and sought to disappear, he became practical.

"You'll need a new identity - and the papers to go with it," he said, handing Spock a bundle of documents. "Look through these - they're all genuine - then let me know. Anywhere special you want to go?"

"It does not matter," Spock said wearily as he turned away.

***

Though he was exhausted, he could not sleep and now Spock sat examining the documents Jones had given him, looking for a new name, a new life. Most were useless, for he could not pass as Human, and there were no Vulcan papers...besides, he was no longer Vulcan, he remembered. He had failed his teaching... and was not that teaching now to be questioned?

In his relationship with Kirk, he had acted as tradition demanded, controlling his desire to be fully one with his lover until they could be formally bonded. If he had given way, acted as a Human, taken and given the gift both had wanted, he would now be with Kirk - either in death, or drawn to him by the irresistible compulsion of the Bond.

He had buried his pain at Kirk's loss, had endured the agonies of pon farr, and had attempted to continue with his duties as a Vulcan should, only to hear his love cruelly mocked, to be flayed with vicious words.

Therefore, if the suppression of emotion brought such pain, he would choose a life which did not demand control. He was half-Human... there were surgeons, he knew, who could alter his physical appearance - 'I'm going to bob your ears,' a voice echoed in his memory, and hazel eyes flashed teasing laughter - and Jones would know how to find such a man... but it would take too much time, and he did not think he could afford the fees...

Glancing at the next file, his concentration sharpened. 'Silver' was the only name given, a Human/Romulan hybrid, a petty criminal with a string of convictions for theft and smuggling. This was... possible. He read the file with close attention, then went in search of Cyrano Jones.

"This one."

"A good choice - Silver's dead, killed in a brawl on Argelius. He was never identified, and he was very much of a loner, no-one knew him well enough to say that you're not him. The photograph is a close enough likeness, if you let your hair grow, and I can soon alter the fingerprints and signature on the identity card. I'll have it ready by the time we reach Malden - that's my next call - and you can leave there, or travel on with me if you wish."

***

Four days later, they reached the colony world of Malden, and Spock left the ship. To his surprise, Cyrano Jones refused any payment for his help.

"Let's just say I want to prove I don't hold grudges," he shrugged. "Do you want me to get a message to anyone on the Enterprise?"

For a moment, Spock hesitated, tempted, then shook his head. He would have liked to let McCoy know he was safe but... "It would be unwise to implicate any of my... friends," he said. "Will you be at risk?"

"Don't worry about me!" Jones chuckled. "So I gave a lift to a friend - there's no law against that. And I can truthfully say I don't know what your plans were when I left you."

"Mr. Jones..." Spock hesitated awkwardly. "Thank you."

***

Spock remained only a few days on Malden, then took passage on the next liner out. Where it was heading he neither knew nor cared - he spent his time shut up in his cabin, unwilling to see or be seen, alone with his pain.

That passage was only the first of many, so many that he lost count; interminable flights on nameless ships to unknown destinations, broken only by brief interludes when he locked himself in a hotel room until the next ship left.

He changed, physically and mentally. He allowed his hair to grow, discarding the neat, Vulcan style he had worn all his life; in keeping with his new character, it now fell almost to his shoulders, and was held back by a gleaming band which - so the file told him - Silver had adopted as his trademark.

The conservative clothes he had brought with him were replaced by the Romulan hybrid's more colourful dress, though he instinctively avoided the more garish tones and wore mostly dark blue and silver.

Food sickened him, and he ate sparingly only when his body weakened, so that he grew daily thinner; he seldom spoke, and his voice took on a new, husky tone, gradually falling into a slurred speech quite unlike his former crisp diction.

At first, he had had some vague idea of searching for Kirk and he haunted the bars and vice dens of the planets he visited, particularly those frequented by Klingons or Romulans, his ears pricked for anything: a word, an incautious remark, that might provide a clue to his friend's fate. There was nothing to be learned, and as the weary months passed, his mind fell into a dull lethargy; eventually he almost began to forget what it was he searched for.

Sleep, when it came, was a torment, for then he dreamed. Night after night, he awoke, sick, trembling, and frightened, from a dream in which Durrell's goldshirted body writhed helplessly in his hands, the face blurring, dissolving, reforming into Kirk's dearly-loved features so that he knelt by the body of his murdered love and knew himself for his killer.

Gradually, the conviction grew in him that he was responsible for Kirk's death. If he had not returned early from the shore party the Human would not have drowned. It was his fault.

Torn between hope that Kirk lived and resignation to his death, he again contemplated suicide, and again rejected it. Confused, weary and ill, it began to seem to him that this life of torment was his punishment - he had failed to protect his Bondmate. He pictured Kirk as he struggled in the treacherous waters, calling for help, and imagined how his mate must have felt, alone and frightened, reaching for the hand that had always been there, but was not when it really mattered.

In a dim bar on some nameless planet, he found the one small joy in his life of frozen anguish. One of the pleasure-girls, whose advances he had rejected with an innate courtesy no amount of suffering could erase, introduced him to sabir.

After the first trial, it became his sole reason for living.

Sabir was a drug - not as the still-used cocaine and heroin were, not the poisonously addictive zirrith - but it had its own, insidious power. Under its influence, his clouded memory sharpened, became as clear as crystal - one small drop of the pale green liquid and he could relive his brief time of happiness, walk once more with Kirk at his side. He had only to think of the memory he wished to recapture and it was his, as fresh and clear as though he lived it for the first time.

After a few cautious experiments, he used it to recall his most treasured memory - the one night he had spent in Kirk's arms, when the Human had laughingly - and very expertly - seduced him, and he had been a willing, responsive victim of his lover's caress. The last night of Kirk's life... He was grateful now that he had succumbed to the Human's persuasion... Early the following morning he had beamed back to the ship, leaving Kirk to follow after one final swim - that swim from which he had not returned. At the time, the Vulcan had felt a twinge of guilt at sleeping with a lover to whom he was not yet formally bonded - now he was grateful that they had at least known the supreme joy of loving once before Kirk died... and aided by the sabir he could recapture those moments of happiness when the bleakness and desolation of his life became too much to bear.

There was one drawback. Sabir, though readily available and subject to no restrictions, was ruinously expensive; Spock ended his desperate flight on Carlon, and submerged himself in the transient crowds of that open planet, determined to spend no more of his dwindling resources on even the cheapest spaceflight.

To further conserve money, he dropped his standard of living to the lowest possible level, taking a tiny room - scarcely more than a cupboard - in the cheapest lodgings he could find; one wretched meal was included in the price, and he spent no more on food, supplementing his diet with fruit picked from the thorny bushes that grew like weeds not far from the city.

For all his poverty, he never relaxed his personal standards, keeping himself, his clothes and room scrupulously clean - the body Kirk had loved with such tenderness and passion was no longer entirely his, and was tended with the care he would have given to anything that belonged to Kirk.

The numbness had by now almost completely closed over his mind, so that he existed from day to day, hour to hour, knowing that he must stay alive, but no longer sure why. He lived only for his weekly ration of sabir, longing for more but rationing himself strictly; only in those hours did he feel alive, and trapped in the past he gave no thought to the present - when the drug wore off he lapsed once more into his automatic, meaningless routine.

At last came the night when he crouched on his narrow bed, feverishly counting his money, hoping that he would find he had made a mistake; then with a sob of despair he flung himself down, biting his lip until it bled - he had not enough to buy his next ration of sabir. Somehow, he must obtain money, and he could not see how that was to be accomplished.

There was little in the way of unskilled employment on Carlon and, when any was available, the colonists steered clear of hiring any of the drifters from the city; and he could not apply for anything more skilled, for Silver's papers showed him to be untrained.

Certainly, Silver's reputation would have gained him acceptance among the various criminal organisations but he would be expected to take part in kidnapping, drug-smuggling, slave traffic, and from these he recoiled in disgust - not even for Jim's ghost could he stoop so low.

For a few days longer, he managed to continue but, finally, his last coins were gone; he could not buy food, and was threatened with eviction from the miserable room that was all the shelter he had - and the bitter winter of Carlon was near.

His long-dead pride would not have prevented him from appealing for aid to one of the charities that worked in the slums of Carlon City but they could not give him what he wanted...and the risk of detection was too great.

At last, his need for oblivion grew too strong and he turned with despair to the possibility he had resisted for so long. Theft. There was a small bar not far from his lodgings where he had regularly obtained his supply of sabir; it was - for Carlon - a respectable establishment and Spock thought that it would be possible to break in early one morning soon after the place closed, and steal enough sabir for his needs.

Having succumbed to the temptation, he acted that same night, hiding in the shadows until the customers emerged, the lights were extinguished, and the owner locked up; then when all was quiet he slipped round to the rear of the building, and located an accessible window. It was guarded, of course, but for Spock it was a simple matter to circumvent the alarm, and he was soon inside.

He knew exactly where to find what he sought; going directly to the bar, he studied the gantry by the light of the street-lamp outside, licking his lips with excitement as he saw the almost full bottle of sabir on the shelf.

Stepping forward, he reached for it - only to stiffen in agony as his hand came into contact with a defensive forcefield. So great was his need that he persisted and the field increased in intensity; with a low moan, he sank to his knees, unable now to pull his hand away, his whole body quivering with pain. As unconsciousness claimed him, his last thought was that he made a very poor criminal - Silver would not have been so careless.

***

"Wake up, halfbreed! Time you were on your feet!" The raucous voice slowly penetrated the darkness in Spock's mind; a hand fastened in his hair, shook him violently. "Up, I said!"

He opened pain-clouded eyes, but even as he struggled to focus he was slapped sharply across the face, and dragged to his feet.

"Is this the best you can do, jailer?" an amused voice said softly. "He looks half-witted."

"He's intelligent enough," the harsh voice grunted. "I assure you, he'll suit your need."

Spock managed to concentrate his attention, and realised that he was standing in a damp stone cell. Two men faced him, one in the uniform of a prison warder, the other, an Orion, wearing the insignia of one of the civilian space lines that called at Carlon.

"What do you know of him?" the Orion asked.

"Not much." The jailer consulted a clipboard. "Name's Silver - a Human/Romulan hybrid. Sentenced to five years as a contract-labourer - he was caught breaking into a bar. He's a sabir user - the owner recognised him and reckoned that's what he was after - he didn't even try for the safe. He didn't know about the forcefield on the bar, though - he fell into it. That's why he's so shaken up - he's been unconscious for three days."

Gradually, his situation began to make sense to Spock. He had been caught in the act of theft, and justice was rough-and-ready on Carlon - he had been sentenced without trial. The Carlonese had solved the problem of feeding and housing criminals - instead of prison, they were made available as contract labourers to anyone who cared to pay their price; in effect, they were sold into slavery for the duration of their sentence.

"Hmmm... I wonder..." The Orion's crimson eyes narrowed as he studied Spock carefully. "Yes... perhaps he will do... I'll take him."

"If you will sign here?" The Orion scrawled his signature on the clipboard and turned back to Spock.

"Silver, I am Dagon, First Officer of the S.S. Revor, a space liner operating in this sector. We have urgent need of a replacement steward - do you understand?"

"I understand," Spock replied listlessly.

"Come with me - and remember, I've dealt with contract men before. Don't make your situation any worse than it is by trying to escape."

Spock obediently followed his new employer from the cell; indeed, he had no thought of escape, for where in all this galaxy could he go?

***

Twenty four hours later, Dagon looked up from his desk as the door buzzer sounded. "Come in. Ah, it's you, Silver."

For a moment, he studied the man intently, then as he saw the change in the new steward, the vertical pupils of his crimson eyes widened in appreciation. "Well..." he purred, in an altered tone. "Quite a difference, Silver." Free of the grime of the prison, Silver was dressed now in the stark, black uniform of the space line; his dark, lustrous hair fell shining to his shoulders, framing a pale, expressionless face graced with the delicate ears of his race. Catlike, the Orion moved forward and laid his hand on the thin shoulder, smiling in satisfaction as he felt the man flinch at his touch.

"You will attend the first class passengers," Dagon said, "and you will also serve me as my steward. Report to Byrne, the Chief Steward - he will fill you in on your duties."

The tasks assigned to Silver were not, in fact, arduous - he served the first class passengers in the dining room, and was responsible for their cabins, but apart from that, his time was his own, except when he tended Dagon's quarters.

The other stewards largely ignored him for, being Human, they regarded a Romulan halfbreed with suspicion; but in any case, he would not have sought their company, preferring to remain aloof.

One evening, when he arrived at Dagon's quarters in the course of his duties, he found the First Officer working at his desk; the Orion gestured to him to continue and he worked quietly, unaware that the man was watching him intently.

"Tell me, Silver," Dagon said suddenly, "why was the sabir so important to you?"

The steward made no answer and, with a smile, Dagon walked over to a cupboard, unlocked it and turned with a jade-gleaming flask in his hand; seeing it, Silver's dark eyes glowed with hunger and the Orion's smile broadened.

"When you want it badly enough, come to me and ask for it," he purred. "It will be yours - at a price."

Replacing the flask, he walked back to Silver who was staring at him in bewilderment. "At a price," he repeated. "I think that you will pay it." 

The Revor was unlike any ship that Spock - or Silver - had known. On the surface, a respectable passenger liner, her Orion registry left her open to use for illegal purposes such as drug-smuggling, arms running, and the transportation of slaves, who officially travelled as normal passengers.

The senior officers were certainly efficient crewmen, but the Captain's main interest lay in how much profit he could amass from his illegal activities and the First Officer virtually ran the ship, enjoying his power and anticipating a command of his own.

Silver was utterly wretched. Treated with contempt by many of the passengers, despised by the stewards, there was no-one he could turn to for comfort. Desperate to escape the crowded cabin he shared with the other stewards, he found a refuge in the cargo hold, to which he carried his bedding and where most of his off-duty time was spent in silent misery as he wondered what Dagon's price would be.

He had been almost a month on the Revor when the Chief Steward, whose family had been killed in a Romulan raid on his home colony some years before and who, therefore, harboured a particular hatred for the defenceless halfbreed, found the opportunity he had been waiting for.

The ship was carrying its full complement of passengers and Silver, who had been sick and feverish for two days, was ordered back on duty. As he left the dining room, carrying a stack of dirty plates, one of the passengers stood up unexpectedly and bumped into him, sending the dishes flying.

Muttering an apology, Silver cleaned up the mess and took the broken dishes to the disposal unit; on his return to the galley; he found the other stewards waiting for him.

"Bloody halfbreed!" Byrne was almost beside himself with rage. "You know we're fined for breakages and, as you're a contract labourer, it'll all come off our bonus. You men - hold him!"

The other stewards grabbed Silver and held him motionless while Byrne beat him mercilessly with his fists.

"Don't mark his face!" one of the stewards chuckled. "The Captain doesn't like his crew fighting on, duty, remember."

With a grunt of acknowledgement, Byrne delivered a final blow to the side of Silver's head just as he was released so that he crashed into the wall before he fell, stunned and shaking.

When his head cleared at last, he was alone and slowly, painfully, he dragged his aching body to his hiding place; curled up on his mattress, he sobbed quietly, despairingly, longing for Jim with renewed intensity. '

Sabir... would give him his beloved again... but he did not know what Dagon's price would be; distrust of the man had enabled him to resist the temptation to seek out the First Officer but pain, loneliness and misery, and the hatred thrown at him that his telepathic mind was receiving, had broken him at last - he was prepared to pay almost any price for a few hours' release from this hell. Wearily, he climbed to his feet and headed for Dagon's quarters.

"Come in, Silver." Dagon's smile was pure malice. "I can guess why you have come."

"I must have... sabir."

"You will pay my price?"

"What do you ask?"

The Orion moved closer. "I have taken no consort but, when I do, I will choose a male. You will provide me with an interesting diversion, Silver - give me your body in payment."

"No!" Revolted, Silver shrank away from the hands that reached for him, and the Orion laughed harshly.

"As you choose," he shrugged, "but only from me can you obtain the drug... look at it, Silver." He turned, the flask gleaming in his hand. "How badly do you want it?"

Fascinated, Silver gazed longingly, fighting for the strength to leave; the crimson eyes glowed, mocking him.

"Well, Silver?" Dagon purred. "How do you choose?"

***

It was bad, but not the total humiliation he had feared. Orion sexual habits were deeply ingrained and Dagon was typical of his race. While it was perfectly acceptable for one male to choose another as mate, there was one unbreakable rule - the relationship had to be conducted on the same terms as a male/female marriage. Therefore, the passive subordinate partner was neutered - however strong the attraction, no Orion would dream of possessing a fully-functional male.

The sane, rational Vulcan who still existed deep in Silver's confused mind recoiled in disgust at Dagon's gloating anticipation, but it was Silver who exerted control, determined at any cost to buy a few hours' respite from pain. He lay passively on the bed, submitting to the eagerly stroking hands and avid lips, reacting only sufficiently to provide the manual stimulation his tormentor demanded. Then, when it was over, he rose and dressed and received the carefully measured ration of sabir in shaking hands.

"Having submitted once, you will come again... and again," Dagon purred contentedly.

Silver made no reply but carried the precious phial of sabir with him to the crew's washroom where he stripped and showered, scouring the Orion's touch from his flesh; then he fled blindly to his refuge in the cargo hold, into the welcoming arms of the lover who waited for him in the depths of his memory.

***

In the small enclosed world of the Revor, Silver's relationship with the First Officer was soon common knowledge and so greatly was Dagon feared that all mockery and persecution from the crew ceased; he was even given a small cabin of his own and was duly grateful for the privacy it afforded from the speculative whispers that now followed him. His hiding place in the cargo hold remained in use, however, on the occasions when he obtained sabir; as no-one on the ship knew of its existence he could dream undisturbed.

Regularly, once a week, he went to Dagon, timing himself so that he was released with the precious drug at the beginning of his rest period; the Orion tried to persuade him to come more often but he would not.

One night, as he prepared to leave Dagon's bed, the Orion held him back. "I have come to a decision, Silver - I desire you as consort."

"I will not consent and you cannot compel me." Silver tried to speak calmly, but he trembled with apprehension - the Orion seemed very confident.

"Can I not? You forget, you are a convicted thief. If I accuse you of stealing from my quarters, who will believe your denial? This is an Orion ship - by our laws, you would then belong to me. Captain Ortega holds your contract, and my father will buy it from him if I ask him to do so... and once on Orion you will be doubly in my power. Resign yourself, Silver - when we return home you will be neutered and I will take you as my consort. Until then, your need for sabir will bring you to my bed."

When he surfaced next day from his dream, Silver remembered Dagon's threat and knew himself totally in the Orion's power; the realisation sparked a confused train of thought in his clouded mind.

He belonged to Kirk, therefore Dagon must not possess him - yet without influence, a convicted criminal, trapped on this ship, there was no help he could ask. The thought of suicide tempted him again, for he was convinced now that Kirk was dead, but the faint possibility that he was not stayed his hand.

An abrupt severance of the half-formed Bond could damage Kirk's mind... but perhaps a slow, gradual weakening into dissolution would not be harmful... Deliberately, Silver released his small hold on reality, slowly withdrawing his mind into an apathetic haze so that he functioned automatically, with no real awareness of his surroundings. At the same time, he began to cut down on his food, hiding his growing weakness of body with a cunning born of desperation, knowing that he would eventually reach a point where his decline could not be reversed; it was Silver's only method of escape, a determination that, when they reached Orion, Dagon would claim only a mindless, dying shell.

One evening soon after, Silver finished his duties early and returned to his room. It had been a quiet trip, with few passengers, and there had been little for him to do, which was fortunate - his growing weakness was becoming difficult to conceal.

He lay on his bed trying to decide if he should go to Dagon. Last night he had dreamed of Kirk - not his usual haunted nightmare of death, but a tender, loving illusion of the sort usually induced only by sabir. Yet it was a true dream, for it had seemed to him that he stood with Kirk beneath Vulcan's red sky on the day of their bonding-and he wondered if, with sabir, he could recapture that dream... His intercom crackled. "Silver, this is Byrne. Prepare the V.I.P. suite for two important passengers - they'll be boarding within the hour."

***

There was very little preparation for Silver to make - meticulous in his duties, he had thoroughly cleaned the rooms after their last occupants; he made up the beds, set out clean towels, then cast a critical eye around for any last-minute changes. All was in order - the two bedrooms with their connecting bathroom, and the day cabin, were in perfect order.

Satisfied, Silver was about to leave when the corridor door opened and the two passengers came in, followed by a crewman who carried their cases. He stood with his head respectfully bowed as they passed without a glance, but the pain squeezed his heart at the sight of their uniforms, the gold of Starfleet Command and the blue of Science.

He was just slipping out into the corridor when one of the men spoke. "Well, Commodore, it looks like they've given us the best room in the house."

That voice! Silver looked up, startled, to see the face of Doctor McCoy. The surgeon was not looking at him, but at his companion and Silver caught his breath at the similarity of that averted head. Then, even as he started forward, the door slid shut, cutting off his view. Slowly, he turned away and walked numbly back to his cabin.

Silver was not on duty that night, a fact for which he was immeasurably grateful. Alone in his room, he considered the implications of the shock he had just received.

McCoy...here... The sight of the Doctor had been painful enough, but infinitely worse was the glimpse he had caught of his companion's back. It could so easily have been Jim... but McCoy had called him 'Commodore'...

A burning curiosity grew in Silver's mind, coupled with the need for caution; he had to see the Commodore's face... but if McCoy caught sight of him...

A swift glance in the mirror was reassuring; the black spaceline uniform accentuated his thinness, the alien hairstyle was strangely deceptive... and those blank, dead eyes could surely never have belonged to Commander Spock.

In a fever of impatience, he forced himself to wait until late into the ship's night before he slipped out into the corridor, heading for the passenger deck.

His pass key admitted him to the suite and he hesitated, wondering which sleeping cabin to try first; then he shrugged and chose a door at random. It was the right one - the occupant had fallen asleep without turning off the reading lamp and he could see the gold shirt slung casually over a chair.

Hesitantly, Silver approached the bed, afraid to look, afraid not to; his eyes flickered over the sleeping man, then widened in shocked recognition.

It was Kirk. The faint light revealed new stress-lines on the beloved face, his lips, even in sleep, held a bitterness that had not been there before - but it was Kirk.

JIM! Delighted wonder blazed in the dark eyes as he took a step forward, hand outstretched to touch... Then, with a faint whimper of pain, he cowered back as he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror across the room.

Spock was dead. It was Silver who trespassed in this room, Silver who had thought for one insane moment to claim Kirk...

Spock... Yes, Spock was a fit consort for the Human - Silver was not. A deserter, a convicted criminal, a user of drugs, a man who had submitted to a degrading relationship, who had been chosen as mate by an Orion who intended to... to...

Such a man had no right even to touch Kirk's hand.

Still, at least he knew that Jim was alive and safe, back in Starfleet with his friends; he longed to know what had happened to the Human but realised that he probably never would. All he could do now for Kirk was to go as quietly as he had come... but he would steal these few moments to warm his heart.

Silver slipped to his knees beside the bed, longing to kiss the delicate eyelids, the slightly parted lips... but Kirk would wake at the slightest touch. He gazed unblinkingly until his eyes burned, then slowly lowered his head and touched his lips to the pillow beside Kirk's sleeping face. For a moment, he lingered, savouring his bondmate's distinctive scent, then with a last despairing, hungry look at the beloved face, Silver crept quietly from the room.

As the door slid shut behind him, the sleeper moaned, stirred restlessly, and opened bewildered eyes. The fair brows creased in a frown of puzzlement, and he whispered uncertainly, "Spock?"

***

"Silver! What the hell were you doing in there?"

The sharp question greeted him as he emerged into the corridor, and he started nervously - he had thought Dagon still on duty.

He must not suspect - he might harm Jim. Carefully schooling his voice to indifference, Silver replied, "I was curious. I caught a glimpse of the Commodore when he came on board... he reminded me of someone I knew... once..."

"A lover?" Dagon's voice grew harsh and he reached out to grasp Silver's arm. "Come with me."

In the privacy of his cabin, the Orion glared at his victim. "Undress!"

For a moment, Silver hesitated. the urge to rebel, to strike back at his tormentor, rising within him. /Be careful./ his mind warned. /If you defy him now. he will wonder why.../

Dagon turned, flexing a cane between his powerful hands. "You will keep away from all others," he commanded. "You belong to me. To remind you to obey. I'm going to whip you - and if I find you near that Commodore, or any other man. you'll get more of the same. Go and lie on the bed."

When the beating was over - and the humiliating sexual encounter that followed it - Silver pulled his uniform on over his bruised, shivering body.

"Remember, I'll be watching," was Dagon's parting shot.

***

The following day, Silver was not greatly surprised to find that, on Dagon's instructions. another steward had been assigned to the suite occupied by Kirk and McCoy - he was given other duties that kept him well away from the passenger deck.

He was required to serve at the Captain's table that evening. however, and with a mixture of anguish and delight, he saw that Kirk and McCoy were Ortega's guests. Despite Dagon's presence, he could not conceal the longing in his eyes as he approached with a loaded tray - it was perhaps dangerous for him to be there, but he felt reasonably safe as passengers did not normally take much notice of the stewards.

He kept his eyes lowered as he placed a bowl of soup in front of Kirk; the Human broke off what he was saying, sat in silence for a moment, then continued, "Captain Ortega, I neglected to inform you - a Starfleet vessel may intercept our course tomorrow, and, if so, it will be necessary for me to transfer to her. I trust this will not inconvenience you?"

"Not at all, Commodore," Ortega said politely. "It is an honour to serve you...'

Silver carefully placed the last of the dishes and left the table, but he could not resist one glance backwards at the Human's profile; he was seen and a furiously angry Dagon rose from his seat and followed him.

"Get to your quarters!"

"My duties..."

"I will explain that you have been taken ill." The Orion hustled Silver back to his cabin and pushed him inside. "I'll deal with you tomorrow - until then, I'm going to lock you in. At our next port of call I intend to find an Orion surgeon and have you neutered at once - the Embassy will arrange for me to take you as consort, and then you will discover that you are mine." The Orion left, locking the door behind him.

Silver sat for hours, conscious of only one thought - Jim was leaving tomorrow. He must... he must look for the last time on the face of his bondmate... then with Kirk out of the way, he would do what he could to hasten his death. The Human would almost certainly detect the severance of the bond, but McCoy was with him to help him over the effects. And... Dagon would never possess the body that belonged to Kirk.

As he had done the previous night, he waited until very late into the night before he picked the lock and left his cabin; if Dagon found him missing he would be punished... but nothing could have stopped him as he slipped into Kirk's room.

As before, the lamp was burning, and Silver leaned eagerly over the bed, so close that his mouth - almost - brushed Kirk's hair. A pulse beat very fast in the Human's throat and he studied it curiously... then started back in instinctive panic as Kirk's intercom buzzed.

He must not be found here... swiftly. soundlessly, he slipped into the bathroom.

"Kirk here."

"I regret disturbing you. Commodore. My First Officer reports that a thief was seen entering your suite - I request permission to enter and search."

"Very well - just give me a moment." The intercom snapped off, then on again. "Bones, get out there and delay the Captain."

"Sure, Jim."

Frozen, Silver cowered back into the shadows; Dagon must have found him missing, suspected where he had gone and had, as he had threatened, arranged to have him accused of theft - but from the Commodore.

He heard Kirk get out of bed, then the bathroom door was pushed slightly ajar, and without looking into the room, Kirk called. "Spock, come out here."

He knows! Panic-stricken, Spock turned to escape, but the door was locked on McCoy's side.

Kirk spoke again, in a tone of command, "Spock, come here."

Hesitantly. the Vulcan obeyed; as he emerged, Kirk enveloped him in a fierce hug, then immediately began pulling off his clothes.

"Undress quickly, and get into my bed. Hurry!"

Bewildered, Spock found himself doing as he was told, and before he realised what was happening, he was naked in Kirk's bed. The Human leaned down and pulled off the headband so that his hair flowed over the pillow; then he smiled unsteadily.

"Stay there and don't move."

Kirk fastened the belt of his robe. ran his fingers through his hair, then opened the bedroom door; Spock shivered involuntarily as he heard Dagon's loud. angry voice, McCoy's familiar, stubborn tones in reply. Kirk joined the others, then the door closed and he could hear no more.

Alone, Spock looked around, but there was no escape, nowhere to hide; suddenly the door opened again and Kirk came in with Ortega.

"Well, Commodore?" the Captain demanded as soon as the door closed. "You promised me an explanation in private."

"My dear Captain Ortega." Kirk's famous charm was in full play. "As a man of the world, you will appreciate the need for discretion. Men in our position bear heavy responsibilities, and we deserve a little... relaxation." Nodding towards the bed, he continued, "If I invite one of your stewards to share my bed and he is willing, surely no harm has been done, yet if it became public knowledge..."

"Ah, I understand, Commodore," Ortega chuckled, bringing a flood of colour to the Vulcan's pale face. "Of course, of course... as you say, men in our position understand the need for discretion." He winked broadly. "Say no more - your secret is safe with me."

"I knew I could rely on you to understand, Captain. I hope you will allow me to express my appreciation before I leave your ship. And now, perhaps..."

"Indeed, I must detain you no longer." Opening the door, he called, "Dagon, you were mistaken - there's no-one here."

"But..."

"Do you doubt my word? You men - dismiss! Dagon, we are disturbing our guest." The outer door closed, there was silence for a moment, then Kirk came slowly back into the room. His eyes fixed on the Vulcan's face, he sat down on the bed, and raised a trembling hand to push back the flowing hair.

"Spock..." he breathed in a tone of utter contentment. "Oh, Spock... it's been so long... I thought I'd never find you..."

With a sob, he pulled the unresisting Vulcan into his arms, holding him close, his hands stroking the silken hair.

After a moment, Spock stiffened and began to pull away; Kirk let him go only far enough so that he could see the Vulcan's face, then his arms tightened again. "What's wrong?" he whispered. "Aren't you pleased to see me?"

"Jim... please, let me go, you must not touch me... I am no longer fit... I do not have the right to love you."

"Why not?" Kirk demanded gently, lifting Spock's bowed head; the dark eyes lowered in shame, refusing to meet his.

"I have disgraced you... betrayed Vulcan... I attacked Captain Durrell and deserted my post. I am a convicted thief., a user of drugs... and Jim... I have been... claimed as mate... by Dagon... Please, it hurts to be near you... you cannot want to touch me now..."

"Do you want to go to Dagon?" Kirk's fingers dug into Spock's arms, his voice shaking with fear. "Do you love him?"

"No!" Spock looked up then, his dark eyes glowing. "I love you... only you... but I thought you dead... Dagon offered... there is a drug, I could have you again, relive my memories of you... That was why... But he wanted more... He... " The quiet voice fought to speak calmly. "He said that, if I refused to obey him, he would accuse me of theft and, by Orion law, I would then be in his power. Who would believe the word of an already convicted thief against that of a respected officer? I was... too tired to fight... I allowed him to believe that I would obey..."

"But you don't belong to him?"

"Not yet. You know the Orion custom? He intended to have me neutered at our next port of call... but I was willing myself to die... I would have died before he could claim me..."

"There's nothing he can do to you now," Kirk said reassuringly. "I am here, so is McCoy... Silver has powerful protection now. And, listen to me, Spock." Emphasising his words, Kirk shook the Vulcan gently, "Whatever you've been, whatever you've done... it doesn't matter, not to me. You're alive, that's all I care about. We both have much to explain. but one thing you must believe - you're mine. I love you, and I want you back. Will you come?"

For a moment, Spock gazed into the hazel eyes, scarcely daring to believe Kirk's offer. The love he saw in the Human's face took his breath, and he gradually relaxed in the comforting embrace, convinced at last.

"I will come," he whispered faintly.

"Good. Now that's settled, let me look at you." Sitting back. Kirk studied the gaunt face intently. "God, you look like death!" Reaching over, he switched on the intercom, "Okay. Bones - you can come in now."

As though he had been waiting for the summons, McCoy entered immediately. fully dressed, medical kit in hand. He gazed at the Vulcan, his blue eyes suspiciously bright.

"So he did come back!" he exclaimed at last in a tone of deep satisfaction.

"Come back?" Spock was bewildered. "You knew...?"

"I knew," Kirk replied simply. "I was waiting for you tonight."

"But how could you? You never once looked at me - at Silver."

Kirk lifted Spock's hand, brushing the fingers with his lips. "Last night I dreamed of you - I knew you were close to me. Then tonight, at table... Spock, your hands have held me., caressed me... I didn't need to see your face, I knew you at once. So I told Ortega that story about leaving the ship - I knew you'd try to see me again. My foolish Vulcan... did you really think I'd let you go?" His voice was husky with tenderness.

McCoy coughed deliberately - in another minute they were going to forget he was there. "If you two have finished for the moment, I have a job to do, remember?" His gruff tone could not hide the affection in his eyes as he glanced at Spock. "Jim, will you let go of him! Vulcan readings are bad enough without yours complicating things." A diagnostic scanner whirred and McCoy frowned. "Nasty," he said in reply to Kirk's enquiring glance. "Badly underweight, very run down... and something in his bloodstream... I can't quite..."

"Sabir," Spock said quietly.

"Sabir, huh? Can't say I blame you. Well, you won't need it now. Ah, what's this? Pain readings high... Spock, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." The Vulcan coloured and clutched the sheet tightly; Kirk shook his head in reproof, pulled it down and both Humans gasped - Spock's thighs and belly were covered with deep angry weals, some broken and bleeding.

"Spock, who did this to you?" Kirk's voice held tears as he gently touched the bruised flesh.

"Dagon," Spock whispered. "Last night he saw me leave your room... I told him you reminded me of someone I had known once. He was jealous...he whipped me...I thought if I angered him he might take revenge by harming you..."

"He'll never touch you again," Kirk promised. "Now, get some rest - we'll talk tomorrow."

"Jim...you'll be here? You won't leave me?"

McCoy turned away, unable to bear the anguish in that hesitant appeal; Kirk smiled reassuringly and touched Spock's face. "I'll be here," he promised.

***

When Spock succumbed at last to the powerful sedative, Kirk gently disengaged the clinging hands. Reaching forward, he stroked the dark hair.

"Bones, can you help him? It's frightening, to see Spock so...vulnerable."

"Remember what the Vulcan Medical Centre told us, Jim. He lived through an unconsummated pon farr, and since then - well, it's my guess he didn't tell us the half of it. You'll have to be very patient, very gentle with him for a while, but he has all he needs now for complete recovery."

Carefully, the two men cleaned and bandaged the green-bleeding weals and McCoy administered several injections in rapid succession.

"What he really needs now is rest, some decent food, and plenty of affection and reassurance," the Doctor announced. "The first two I can help with - the rest is up to you."

"I know," Kirk turned back the covers and slid into bed, lifting the Vulcan into his arms. "and I'm going to start right now. Turn out the light as you leave, Bones - oh, and ask Captain Ortega if he'll have breakfast with me in the morning."

***

Spock half-awoke several times during the night and each time Kirk was there to soothe and pet him back to sleep. His final awakening found him alone, however, and he started up in panic, only to relax as the sound of Kirk's voice came through the open bedroom door.

"...to business. Captain Ortega. Will you have some more coffee? I wanted to talk to you about the steward, Silver."

"Silver? If he has offended you he will be punished..."

"No - nothing like that. The fact is..." Kirk lowered his voice confidentially. "I find him - pleasing. I would like very much to take him with me when I leave."

"I'm not sure about that, Commodore - the man is a contract labourer."

"You hold his contract, do you not, as the representative of the spaceline? Perhaps we could come to a private arrangement... Suppose I bought his contract from you - with something extra for the inconvenience, of course?"

"In that case, I see no objection. You are aware, however, that my First Officer intends to claim Silver as his consort according to the Orion custom?"

"So I have been told, but Silver is unwilling. You have the authority on this ship, and if you choose to release his contract to me, what right has your subordinate to question his Captain's decision?"

Succumbing to Kirk's unashamed flattery - and the opportunity for financial gain - Ortega nodded briskly.

"Very well, Commodore - I will have the transfer of contract drawn up and signed at once."

"I am in your debt, Captain. Now, I do know how busy you must be - perhaps I will see you at dinner?"

Spock looked up admiringly as Kirk came in. "Jim, you are very persuasive," he murmured.

The Human smiled. "I can be - when I want something badly enough. How do you feel, Spock?"

"I feel... alive," the Vulcan admitted. He reached out an imploring hand. "Jim, what happened to you? I searched and searched... there was no trace, nothing..."

Kirk grasped the Vulcan's hand tightly and sat down on the bed. "After you returned to the Enterprise, I decided to go for a final swim," he began slowly. "I'd just waded into the water when a transporter beam caught me - I found myself on board a scoutship that had slipped into orbit shielded by the cloaking device. I was met by an officer of the Intelligence Corps - they wanted me for a top secret mission, but the details don't matter, I'll fill you in later. The main thing was, everyone had to believe that Captain Kirk was dead. I told him... about us - I thought it necessary - and that you were close to pon farr, explaining that if you knew the situation you would be able to maintain control a little longer. He promised that, under the circumstances, you would be told the truth, and I agreed to go. Then... when I got back, McCoy told me what had happened, how you had suffered. They'd thought it too risky to tell you. Durrell had charged you with assault and desertion, and Starfleet Command was about to hold a disciplinary hearing in your absence. I went to T'Pau, she contacted Admiral Komack... After the last time, he didn't want to offend her again, and agreed to delay the enquiry until you were found. It took me months to locate Cyrano Jones, and he wasn't much help - all he could tell me was the name 'Silver' and the planet where he'd left you. McCoy and I were going there to try and trace you - this was the first ship we could get - and so I found you. Just in time, I gather."

"Indeed." Spock pressed Kirk's hand tightly. "I would not have lived to reach our next port of call. But what became of Captain Durrell? And your new rank?"

"Durrell... was transferred to a Starbase posting, in view of Scotty's report, and McCoy's; his case will be considered after yours. As for the rank - I'm still on the Enterprise, Spock, and you're coming back with me."

"I heard your arrangement with Captain Ortega. But Dagon might try to prevent you from taking me."

"I'll leave Ortega to deal with him. The good Captain won't let a fat reward slip through his hands, and he's delighted at the thought of having a Starfleet Commmodore owe him a favour. Once I get you off this ship, 'Silver' will vanish for good, and Commander Spock will be found."

"Where will we go?" Spock asked eagerly.

"First, McCoy prescribes a nice, relaxing leave to get you fully fit again. Then..." Kirk's voice grew husky and his eyes held infinite promise, "then we're going to Vulcan, my bondmate. I want you safely mine at last."

"And I," Spock breathed, gazing into the glowing eyes. "Our bonding has been too long delayed."

For a moment, they held each other's eyes, then Kirk laughed shakily. "And do you know what's the first thing I'll do when I get you off this ship?"

"What?"

Kirk smiled, and reached out to finger the shining black silk. "I'm going to cut your hair."

***

Eight weeks later. an impressive group entered the courtroom at Starfleet Headquarters and moved into place on the bench. All were of Admiral's rank, with Komack presiding, assisted by the Humans, Bennett and Maitland, the Andorian Thevor, and the Vulcan Saven.

As this was a preliminary and informal hearing, all unnecessary personnel had been excluded - present were Kirk and Spock, McCoy, Scott and Captain Durrell with his legal adviser.

Admiral Komack began. "We will dispense with the reading of charges - you are all familiar with them, I think. Commodore Kirk, you are representing Commander Spock - do you wish to make a statement?"

"I do." Kirk rose. "I will not at this point take up much of the court's time. My evidence is here on these tapes, the statements of witnesses who will testify in person if necessary, but the court may decide, after hearing what they say, that there is no case to answer."

"It would certainly save the court's time," Admiral Maitland agreed. "Can you give us some idea of the contents of the tapes, Commodore?"

"Indeed, sir." Kirk held up the first tape. "This is my own evidence, an account of my temporary transfer to the Intelligence Corps. As I was due to be bonded to Commander Spock, I requested that he be informed of the delay, giving the full reason; this was promised but not done. As a result, the Commander entered pon farr shortly after my supposed death.

"This tape is medical evidence from Dr. McCoy, describing the physical, mental and psychological suffering caused to the Commander; this one is testimony from two of Vulcan's leading specialists on the effects of an unconsummated pon farr. It demonstrates conclusively that the Commander suffered the equivalent of a severe nervous breakdown - he was not responsible for his actions.

"You have already seen Captain Durrell's report." Kirk's face darkened. "I have here testimony from Mr. Scott and other officers who witnessed the assault on the Captain - they confirm that the Commander was deliberately provoked. Finally, T'Pau of Vulcan testifies to the implications of a bonding, to the dangerous results of an unconsummated pon farr and to the reactions of a Vulcan to any insult to his bondmate.

"Gentlemen, I ask you to hear this testimony in private - I think it will convince you that Commander Spock has been the victim of a series of injustices resulting from the inability of Humans to understand and value alien customs."

"Commodore Kirk." Admiral Saven leaned forward. "For the record - what is your present relationship with Commander Spock?"

Kirk lifted his head proudly. "Three weeks ago, we were formally bonded according to Vulcan law and tradition. The bonding has been officially recognised by Starfleet Command."

Even as he spoke, he saw Durrell's face mirroring righteous disgust. He returned look for look, pity compounded with pride, knowing even as he did so that the man never would - never could - understand. Blinded by his own prejudice, Durrell was utterly astounded at Kirk's unashamed declaration of his love. But Durrell no longer mattered.

"Thank you, Commodore." Saven sat back and Komack leaned over to hold a whispered consultation with his colleagues.

"We agree to consider this evidence in private," he said, rising. "Court is adjourned, gentlemen, until we reach our decision."

***

"What the hell's taking so long?" McCoy grumbled for the hundredth time as he paced the waiting room restlessly.

"Patience, Doctor." Spock, once more the cool, unruffled Vulcan they had all known for so long, raised an eyebrow in reproof. "It is only natural that they should consider carefully. The charges against me are grave, and such a defence has never before been entered."

"Thon wis a good point the Captain - the Commodore - made about the failure tae value alien customs," Scotty said shrewdly. "It canna have failed tae impress Saven and Thevor."

"And Komack won't be in a hurry to offend Vulcan again," McCoy mused. "Scotty, do you think...?"

Leaving the two men to continue their discussion, Spock crossed the room to where Kirk stood looking out of the window. They did not touch, did not even look at each other, but the warmth of the bond reached out to enfold them both. *Soon be over, Spock.*

*I confess, I will be glad.*

*Has the thought of the enquiry... spoiled anything fat you?*

Soft mind-laughter rippled gently through the Human's thoughts. *How could it, Jim? I have my bondmate at last. I am no longer alone. You have taught me... love, and laughter, and belonging... My only regret is that if the court finds against me. you will share my disgrace.*

*Not your disgrace - theirs,* Kirk countered swiftly. *In a sense, Starfleet's on trial here, not you. If they can't accept the value and validity of alien ways, I fear for the future of the Federation - and I don't want to be a part of any organisation that can crucify you just for being what you are.*

*It is a marvel to me,* came Spock's awed response, *how perfectly you can combine logic and emotion, my love.*

Kirk coloured faintly, for even over the intimacy of the bond, he was still unused to endearments from this man when others were present.

"Jim! Spock!" McCoy broke excitedly into their private world. "The court's coming back."

***

From the bench, Admiral Komack surveyed the court. "Our verdict is unanimous," he announced. "On all charges, we find Commander Spock... not guilty."

Despite his best efforts at control, Spock swayed slightly, and was grateful for Kirk's supportive touch on his arm.

"The court also wishes to make several observations," Komack continued. "The Intelligence Officer - who, for obvious reasons, cannot be named - was greatly at fault, but we are satisfied he acted from ignorance rather than malice - he simply did not understand the consequences of ignoring Commodore Kirk's request. Captain Durrell, however, displayed a lack of sensitivity in handling such a delicate matter that disgusts this court. His treatment of a valued and respected officer has disgraced our Service - he will be severely reprimanded and cautioned against allowing his personal beliefs to influence him in dealing with those who do not share his convictions.

"There is one other announcement I must make. Starfleet Command, having recognised the bonding between Commodore Kirk and Commander Spock, also accepts the submission that they cannot now be separated without extreme distress to both. Therefore, Commander Spock is promoted to Captain, and will continue to serve on the Enterprise as First Officer.

"Gentlemen, we deeply regret this occurrence; this court wishes to express its hope that a valuable lesson has been learned. Court is dismissed."

***

That night, Spock, who was resting in deference to McCoy's orders, glanced up smiling as Kirk came through the door that now linked their sleeping cabins. "I sensed that my bondmate has need of me," Kirk murmured as he knelt down beside the bed.

"Your bondmate will always have need of you," Spock replied tenderly, as he took Kirk's face between gentle hands.

Their lips brushed lightly, then Kirk leaned back to look into the dark eyes.

"Are you pleased to be home?"

"I am pleased." Laughter kindled in the velvet depths, so that Kirk felt as though he was suddenly bathed in sunlight. "But wherever you are... is home to me," the Vulcan finished softly.

Kirk smiled in response and joined Spock on the bed, settling his head on the Vulcan's shoulder.

"It's strange," he said suddenly, after a moment, "I've imagined myself in love so many times... and I did love Edith, Spock... but there was always something I held back. Only with you have I been able to give everything - mind, heart, and body - and know that I gained by the giving. How could you pretend that you didn't understand love?"

"I did not, until you came," Spock replied tenderly. "You ensnared me with a power I could not resist - and yet I did resist in others... until I met you. Even then, I could not admit, even to myself, how I felt... It was... illogical."

"And now?" Kirk leaned up on one elbow to smile confidently into his lover's eyes.

"Now?" Spock raised a hand to Kirk's cheek. "Now I know that if two love as we love, death itself is powerless against us. As Silver, I had lost everything... but I still had your love."

Kirk leaned down to kiss the vulnerable mouth, then his lips travelled lightly over Spock's face and down his throat to where the pulse beat fast under the gentle pressure. Then he sat up quickly. "I almost forgot - I have something for you."

Kirk hurried through to his own room and returned almost at once; sitting on the bed, he held out his hand. In his palm lay the IDIC Spock had abandoned all those months ago, and the Vulcan looked at it wonderingly.

"How did you get this?" he asked.

"McCoy knew what it meant to you, a gift from your father. He wanted to take care of it for you, but when I came back, he gave it to me."

"I thought it lost, perhaps stolen," the Vulcan admitted. "I am pleased to recover it... but I will not wear it again."

"Why not?"

"Because..." Spock coloured faintly. Reaching inside his shirt, he pulled out a similar jewel. "You placed this around my neck as the symbol of our bonding. I will keep the other... but this is the one I will wear."

"In your own way, you're as sentimental as I am," Kirk chuckled. "Now, my bondmate, don't you think it's time you applied yourself to duty?"

"Duty?" The winged brows soared. "I do not understand - my shift does not begin for another 11.5 hours..."

"That's not the duty I had in mind," Kirk murmured, pressing himself closer. "I mean... your duty as my bondmate... to please me."

Laughter lightened the velvet eyes as the First Officer proceeded to demonstrate that, in this as in all else, his Captain's wishes were to be instantly obeyed.


End file.
